


Pietà

by osprey_archer



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osprey_archer/pseuds/osprey_archer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Suzie's second death, Owen takes Gwen home to Rhys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pietà

The night after the second time they kill Suzie, Owen takes Gwen, unconscious, back to her flat. In his skinny arms he carries her up the stairs, trembling with the weight as he bashes on the door with his shoulder. She’s thin. He’s weak. He’s going to drop – 

The door opens. Owen squints against the flood of light. “Gwen!” the boyfriend cries, picking her up out of Owen’s arms. “Oh, God, Gwen…” He doesn’t have any problem carrying her. “Gwen, Gwen, Gwen,” he murmurs into her hair. “Gwen, are you all right?” She doesn’t speak, and the boyfriend looks at Owen with the whites of his wide eyes showing. “Is she all right? Will she be all right? What happened?” 

“Oh, yes. It was…” Owen grasps for some plausible injury. “An electrical shock, that’s all – ” 

The boyfriend is already carrying her to the couch. Her hand falls to the shag rug as he settles her on his lap. 

“– she’ll be fine,” Owen mumbles, watching the boyfriend stroke Gwen’s hair. 

“Oh, Gwen,” the boyfriend murmurs, lifting her fallen hand to his lips. Gwen leans into his shoulder. Owen feels ill. 

“I’ll be going.”

Rhys remembers him. He settles Gwen gently on the pillows and rushes to the door. “No, come in, come in. Thank you for bringing her home. Would you like some tea?”

“No, I—”

“Coffee? Or we have whiskey.”

“No, thank you, but—”

“Will she be all right?’

“Yes,” says Owen. 

If Gwen told him where she worked, Owen thinks, he’d probably have a nervous breakdown - no wonder she needs someone else to talk to.

“Oh, thank God,” says the boyfriend, and rushes back over to Gwen. “I’m Rhys, by the way, has she mentioned me?” His hands drift down her neck, across her collarbone: checking for wounds. “Come in, shut the door. Make yourself at home. She will be all right?” 

“Yes!” God, his bedside manner is awful. “She’ll be fine,” he says, more gently.

“Oh, thank God. Oh, Gwen,” says Rhys, and she half-opens her eyes and closes them and presses her face to the pillows. 

“Gwen,” says Rhys, kneeling. He’s got a tough kind of face, this Rhys does (Owen wanted that kind of face when he was younger), but he looks tender now, looking at Gwen. 

She turns her face away from him. Rhys withdraws his hand, stretching his fingers as if they ache. "Gwen," he murmurs. "Talk to me?" 

Owen shifts, foot to foot. He can’t look at Rhys. “Perhaps I should go?” 

“No, no, I’m sorry,” says Rhys. “Stay, just in case - I mean; she will be all right? Thank you for bringing her here. Let me…” he rushes into the kitchen and starts knocking about with the kettle. “Will she wake soon? Should I make her tea too?”

“No, she won’t wake for a while.”

Rhys knocks over the kettle, water gushing on the linoleum. “But – you said it’s just a shock – ” 

“She’ll be fine. I…gave her sleeping pills.” 

“Ah.” Rhys refills the kettle, kneels to mop the water, pops up the set the kettle boiling and slips on the slick floor. He leans on the counter. “So nothing permanent? She’s had just an awful few months, ever since she got this new job. You must be one of her coworkers? Jack, perhaps?”

“No.” He inspects his dirty trainers. “I’m Owen,” he says, feeling sticky, as if his name were dirty - hoping Rhys doesn't connect the dots. 

“Owen…” says Rhys, squinting. “The one who does computer work?” 

Owen has no breath to answer. No dots to connect, then; she hasn’t mentioned him. His voice is breathless, without resonance. “No, I’m a doctor.” 

“A doctor. Just a shock, you say?” Rhys rushes back to Gwen. He pets her hair again, pats her shoulder, runs his hand over her shoulders as if trying to make sure she’s real. 

Owen pokes at the kettle.

He jumps when Rhys appears at his side. “It takes a while to boil, I’m afraid. We have some biscuits if you’re hungry? Hobnobs or ginger? Thank you for taking care of Gwen, Ian.”

“Owen,” Owen snaps. He softens his voice: “It's just a job.”

“And a fine job you do. She comes home—when she comes home—she looks like she’s been through the mill, that one. Like she’s taking up lion-taming.” He searches Owen’s face as if he thinks Owen can explain everything that’s changed about Gwen in the last few months. 

The water, thank God, boils. Rhys dumps instant coffee into cups, far too much, Ianto would have kittens – gulps his down and goes to sit with Gwen on the couch, her head in his lap. Owen stands by the windows, watching the cars below. 

“Oh, Gwen,” sighs Rhys. Owen, unwilling, looks over. 

Owen’s never felt guilty before about sleeping with Gwen—she’s the one with the boyfriend, it’s her job to bother with the guilt.

But. Rhys holds Gwen, her head in his lap, just like Owen held Gwen like that on the dock that afternoon. Fuck, he’d been angry. All that time that Gwen was with Suzie slowly dying, he hated Suzie and hated Gwen for listening to Suzie, and he’d held Gwen and watched Suzie and Jack and Tosh. 

Rhys bends over Gwen, rubbing his cheek surreptitiously against her hand. “Does she like her job?” asks Rhys, head bent. 

Owen looks out the window again: streetlights shining on the puddles. “What?” 

“Her job,” says Rhys. “Does she like it? She's always there.”

What’s he supposed to say to that? Yes, she loves it more than she loves you. No, she hates it, but is there all the time because it’s better than being with you. Rhys, I’m fucking your girlfriend. “I don’t know,” says Owen. His throat is dry. “Gwen and I aren’t very close.” 

Rhys looks at him. “Your job," he asks, "is it worth it?"

Owen slops coffee on his hand. "Dammit," he snaps, stomach burning as if punched. Rhys half rises, holding Gwen. Damn him and his sympathy! “I need to go back,” says Owen, to explain why he's moving toward the door. "Medical emergency." 

“Of course.” Rhys reluctantly starts to remove Gwen from his lap, but Owen lifts a hand: he can let himself out. Rhys settles; Gwen smiles; Owen leaves. “Ian! Thank you for bringing Gwen home safe!” Rhys calls. 

“Owen,” Owen mutters, and shuts the door behind him.


End file.
